Wedding Day Blues

There was a time when weddings were simple. All that was required was a broken condom and a shotgun. There was none of this fuss with wedding lists, or Evening Entertainment, or cake; just a night of unbridled passion followed by a life time of being bridled.

Our wedding was meant to be simple too. It was supposed to be about our feelings for each other, about promising to spend our lives together until we waste away together in a nursing home eyeing up the young carers.

Somehow, it got confused.

Because now it's about everyone else. It's become less of a fairy tale wedding and more like the Rocky horror Picture Show. Madness takes control.

Forget Love, our wedding is about seating arrangements and table decorations and dessert choices and photographers and accommodation and suits and best people and loans and family politics and scatterfetti and party poppers and invites and speeches and wine and transport and tiny chocolates...

And money, always about money.

At present, I'd be quite happy to forget about the wedding and skip to the honeymoon, just like I managed to forget being born. These things just aren’t major life events.

But over Christmas ,when I was lying in bed on my third consecutive night away from Dan, my thoughts were dancing round my mind like a raver in a army obstacle course. And I realised, slowly, that without Dan lying next to me, my bed was a void waiting to be filled. I missed him; I really missed him. It would be fair to say that was somewhat surprising. But I couldn't wait to be home again, hugging him, punching him and annoying him while he cooked dinner.

I am so enraptured by him, that if he asked, I would spend the rest of my life researching, designing and building a machine which could transcend the clouds, steal the stars from the sky, and grind them into a fine biological washing powder to make his laundry whiter than white.

He's worth the money. He's worth the stress. He's worth the rising feel of panic. Our wedding is, and always will be about us, the 2 of us, together for the rest of our lives, pinching each other when we get bored, fighting over the TV remote, and gazing 'thoughtfully' at the shirtless men on the beach until one of us loses our eyesight and has to 'eye up men' using Braille. I want my happily ever after, I want my pet dog, and my evening strolls, and my cold nights in bed spent stealing the duvet. And I want my Fiancée; I want my Dan, I want the one person who has managed to be more important to me than the Simpsons, whilst still managing to increase my latent homophobia on a daily basis.

I want my husband.

And if it costs me all the money in the world, a mental breakdown, and a wedding day styled after Nightmare on Elm Street, I'll do it. I'll do it for him.

Because promising to be together, forever (or until one of us gets really fat) will be the Happiest Day of My Life.

At least until the honeymoon...